


Force of Nature

by soldmysoul



Category: Original Work
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Druids, F/M, Magic, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Nymphs & Dryads, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmysoul/pseuds/soldmysoul
Summary: Mackland has spent much of his life protecting his village from the evils of the nearby woods. It's lonely, until something unusual happens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, another OC fic of more OCs of mine! Visual reference for Mack can be found [HERE](http://soldmysoultofandoms.tumblr.com/post/174420924011/i-have-another-oc-to-share-with-you-all-this-was) and visual reference for Karstyn can be found [HERE](http://soldmysoultofandoms.tumblr.com/post/174421550191/and-here-is-the-counterpart-i-developed-to-mack) . Also, I attempted to write Mack speaking vernacular Scottish with a few Scottish Gaelic words thrown in. I'm no expert at this, so if something needs to be changed just let me know!  
> Enjoy!

The forest is dark and quiet.

Tendrils of early morning mist drift across the meadow from the dense trees, not yet driven off by the rays of the sun that has yet to rise. No birdsong beckons the growing daylight; no movement signals the awakening of forest inhabitants. The only visible living creature stands under a lone sprawling oak tree a few hundred yards from the edge of the woods, his fire from the night before long ago reduced to glowing embers. 

Mackland MacTaggart wraps the loose fabric of his belted plaid more tightly about his shoulders to ward off the damp chill in the air. His hand rests on the head of the battleaxe at his waist as he scans the edge of the forest for signs of his quarry, the creatures that have threatened his village for generations, the beings whom it is his duty to destroy - the dryads.

Their evil has laid plague to this forest since long before even the village elders were born. Their dark spirits infect all within the confines of the woods, and so there is no hunting to be found there. Many who venture too far into the forest return speaking in hushed tones of the monstrous creatures to be found there, quaking in fear at the memories of what was seen. Others never return at all. 

Mack didn’t grow up here. His father had been one of the most highly regarded druids in all the land, always being pulled to and fro from village to village, always needed, always rewarded handsomely. Until one village had begged of the priest to come to their aid, claiming that a darkness of the woods had surged up once again and threatened to overwhelm them. Mack had been but a young man at the time, and had accompanied his father to watch over him. Upon their arrival, it had been made clear that the village’s priest had passed away suddenly, leaving them defenseless against the powers of the dryads. Mack’s father had agreed to stay with them, performing such rituals and ceremonies as he could to ward off the darkness that lay on the border of their land. 

That was many years ago, and many years even since his father had passed. Yet Mack had felt a duty to continue protecting the small village, and had vowed to do so for as long as he could. 

He pulls a waterskin from his belt and takes a deep draft, cool droplets trickling through his stubble and down his neck. Another night without sign of the enemy is a good night indeed. He’s never seen one of the dryads venture from the woods during the day, something he considers fortunate. His thumb caresses the smooth metal of his axe as he leans against the mighty oak towering above him, his eyelids sliding shut for just a moment as he revels in the peaceful morning. 

A rustling of leaves and snapping branches startles Mack to attention. He pulls his weapon from the loop at his waist, the fabric around his shoulders falling to reveal a muscled chest and well-defined arms. The swirling blue tattoo trailing from his right shoulder to his pec is barely visible as more than a dark splotch in the dim light. His eyes are trained on the dense undergrowth in front of him, and while his sight cannot penetrate the darkness fully, he sees the treetops deeper in the forest moving and swaying from more than just a breeze. 

He kicks dirt over the remnants of his fire before slowly approaching the edge of the trees. The rustling continues, and as he gets closer he hears the sounds he’s become so familiar with over the years - the murmurs in an ancient language, never loud enough to make out, hissing and crackling like a dying fire. 

“Ghlèidh, ye foul creatures!” he commands in a gruff baritone. “The morn is nigh, keep tae yer mirk holds an’ tread nae here!” He punctuates the statement by striking the earth with the curved blade of his battleaxe, a pale green ripple emanating from the point of contact and spreading outward. As it reaches the forest, a chorus of otherworldly screeches splits the air, and soon the meadow and woods are filled once again with silence as the morning sun rises. 

Mack remains on guard for a short while longer, weariness seeping through his body after expending so much energy. He’s relieved to not have to fight such entities for once. Despite the fact that they are evil, these creatures are living nonetheless, and he’d rather drive them away than call forth violence. “There is good in aw creatures, Mackland, e’en if we cannae see’t,” his father had told him time and time again. He sighs, finally turning from the forest and heading towards his small hovel on the edge of the village, sleep calling him.

Mack rests during the day, eating once he wakes in the early evening. Occasionally one of the village elders will shake him from slumber to deal with a pressing matter, but that is more rare than not. His sleep today is not dreamless as is usually is, though. Visions of an ethereal presence fill his mind, almost as if it means to tell him something. But he wakes before he can determine what, and a feeling of overwhelming loneliness pervades his being for the first time in recent memory. 

He eats his evening meal and returns to his post without anyone bothering him. They rarely do, anyway - he is a druid priest, and is more respected than even the elders, despite their seniority in age. The lonesome feeling that has fallen over him only deepens at that thought, of how alone he has been so much of his adult life. It strikes a spot in his soul that he never knew was so sensitive, although now he seems to be painfully aware of it. 

He snaps his fingers and a small flame springs to life amid the dried brush he’s gathered. He slips his hand into the sporran at his waist and feels around for a piece of jerky, chewing it thoughtfully as he eyes the woods. The shadows around him deepen, a few crickets brave enough to start up the evening chorus. 

The night passes slowly, putting Mack on edge more so than usual. A few hours before dawn, a great commotion erupts from within the forest, a cry piercing the night. Swiftly, Mack rises and makes towards the edge of the trees, unafraid of what lies in wait for him. As he finds himself under the dark boughs, another shriek rings out, this time calling for help. He pushes through the thick undergrowth, axe at the ready. When he finally comes upon a small open space, he finds himself staring up at three monstrous dryads. Their gnarled black bark glitters in the moonlight of the clearing, the sharp twisted brambles that make up their irregular bodies a menacing appearance. Mack notices a shape on the ground at their clawed feet, obscured by a cloak - no doubt the person who’d called for help. 

He charges into their midst with a yell, drawing their deep red gaze towards him. He stands over the seemingly unconscious victim protectively, brandishing his axe, ready for them to make a move. One of the beasts lunges at him, but a swift strike from his weapon has the dark dryad recoiling, screeching and clutching what used to be a hand. Tar-like fluid oozes from the wound, the sight of it enraging the other two towering creatures further. They come at Mack as one, the curved edge of his axe glints in the moonlight before hewing a leg from one and the head from another. The evil glow of its eyes fades as its branched body collapses to the forest floor. The one missing a hand retreats into the woods, its fallen brethren scrambling to follow. Mack closes the distance between himself and the monster in a few long strides before bringing his axe down on its neck. 

With the immediate threat neutralized, Mack finally turns and kneels next to the stranger. Their cloak is mottled and stained with tales of travel, the hood obscuring their face. He rests a hand on what he presumes is their shoulder, shaking lightly. When they don’t stir, he fears the worst. 

“Are ye alright, friend?” Still no response. He hesitates a fraction of a moment before gently turning them over. “Can ye hear…” He begins, but loses his words as the hood falls away. 

The traveler is unlike anyone he’s ever laid eyes on. She looks to be a woman, which itself is not uncommon, but her appearance is so unique and stunning that Mack cannot help but pause  in his actions. Her skin is a pale green, hair that seems to be made of leaves cascades around her face, the deep reddish color striking even in the low light. Her nose is broad and flat, and not entirely human. 

A rustling in the distance brings him back to the present. They can’t stay here, not while it’s night at least. He slips the handle of his weapon into the loop at his belt before lifting her in a bridal carry.. As he does, her cloak falls open at her neck, and he can’t ignore the Scotch moss that covers part of her chest. Alarm bells are ringing in his head now, but he is sworn to protect good from evil. And thus far he has no reason to think her evil.

He carries her without issue out of the cursed forest, past his forgotten campfire and towards his home. Just as he steps inside the doorway, the being in his arms makes a small sound of discontent, her brow furrowing in sleep, but she doesn’t fully wake. Despite her ample curves and thick build, she does not weigh much more than a child, he notices. He lays her upon his only bed, gathering a stool and some herbs as he returns to her side. He carefully rolls back her sleeves, noting with only slight confusion that she has just four fingers on each hand. A few scrapes and bruises catch his attention, but nothing life threatening. He murmurs a few ancient words over the herbs he grinds, applying them to her small wounds to prevent infection. When he lifts the hem of her cloak to check for more injuries, he finds that she wears no shoes, and that her feet almost resemble the roots of a tree, her toes bare and a light brown pattern resembling wood grain tracing up her calves. She sleeps through his ministrations, only stirring slightly when he pulls a blanket over her and lays a damp cloth on her forehead. 

Mack watches over her until the sun rises, and still she lies in deep sleep. He racks his brain for answers to his growing list of questions. Who is this woman?  _ What _ is she? Why is she here? Where did she come from? He feels at an utter loss for the first time since his father passed. He glances at the small shelf of tomes in one corner of his hut. The pages of reference materials are priceless, passed down through generations in his family and rarely used. He crosses the room to select one that details the various magical flora and fauna of the land. Perhaps he would find some answers here. 

After hours of scouring his miniscule library, he still has no answers. His mysterious guest still slumbers in his bed, now long past midday. He supposes he should simply wait to speak with her when she awakens, and so busies himself with quietly tidying his home. He hangs his cloak properly upon the hook next to his door rather than leaving it rumpled on the floor. He saves the leftover herbal remedy for later use and cleans his mortar and pestle, replacing them on his work bench. Quiet shuffling fills the still air until his hovel is the epitome of cleanliness.

When he finally wipes his hands on a rag and turns to his guest, he sees two sienna eyes looking in his direction. He starts at the unexpected sight before dropping the cloth on the table and moving calmly towards the woman. 

“Yoo’re awake,” he states quietly, careful to make no sudden movements as he eases himself into the stool at the bedside. 

She continues to stare at him, her gaze unwavering. After a few moments of silence she nods. 

“Dae ye feel alright?” She looks well rested, at least, and the injuries on her arms are already less inflamed than they were when he found her. 

Again, she nods silently.

“Ah found ye in th’ wood, the dryads had gotten tae ye but Ah drove ‘em off and brought ye here. M’name’s Mackland, the druid of this village. Ye can call me Mack.” He pauses, unsure of what to say next before he asks, “What’s yer name?”

The stranger keeps staring for a few moments and Mack almost gives up hoping for a response. But she slowly sits up, the blanket pooling around her waist as she does. “Karstyn,” she finally says. Her voice is smooth and melodious, her name falling on his ears like leaves upon a forest floor. 

“Wha- I mean… who are ye?” He asks, his curiosity getting the better of him before he can stop himself. “Sorry, I dinnae mean tae be so forward, it’s just… I’ve ne’er seen anyone like ye afair.” He watches as her cheeks darken and she gives a small smile. 

“But you have seen others like me. I am a dryad as well.” She looks at him with more than a hint of confusion, as if her identity should be obvious. 

Mack’s eyes widen as he looks upon her. “But… how can ‘at be? Ye look nothin’ like those foul beasts.” He means it as a compliment, but a sadness crosses her face all the same. 

“They are infected,” Karstyn explains, a sorrow in her voice. “Such has been the case for many generations. A darkness was spread to these woods which has never left, despite many attempts to drive it away. I was sent here in the hopes that I might determine the source of the darkness but… I was attacked before I could reach this side of the forest.” She smiles sweetly at him now, and he wishes she would never stop. “I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me, even if I was unable to accomplish my task.” 

Mack bows his head slightly, blush creeping up his neck and face. “It’s my duty ta protect all against evils,” he states simply, trying to quell his racing heart. When he looks up her round cheeks are darkened slightly, her eyes glittering brightly in the dim light of his hut. How can it be that this fair being could be the same as those monsters? A feeling crosses his heart, reminding him of his dislike for those that have plagued this forest for so long. But when he looks once more at Karstyn, now glancing around his room in curiosity and wonder, he can’t help but recall his father’s words.  _ Good in all creatures… _ If the dark dryads are anything like her, there may be an inkling of good in them yet. 

Karstyn looks down at her arms, the scratches healing quickly from the salve that Mack had applied, and her hair crackles slightly as she brushes it behind her ear. Mack now sees that it is unlike a human ear, longer and almost deer like in appearance. It twitches when she realizes that he’s watching her and he averts his gaze awkwardly. 

“Can Ah get ye anything?” he offers, standing from his stool abruptly. 

She rises as well, the blanket falling to the floor before she stoops to pick it up and return it to the bed. “Thank you, but I should continue on my journey. I do not wish to be more of a burden than I already have been.” She straightens and smooths her cloak, pulling the fabric of the hood over her head.

“Yoo’re welcome ta stay as long as ya need, Karstyn,” he begins to object, but she moves towards the door nonetheless. He doesn’t notice the deepening blush on her cheeks as her name leaves his mouth. 

“Thank you, but I have been waylaid long enough.” She pauses in the doorway and turns to face him. “Thank you for everything you have done for me, Mackland. Perhaps the next time we meet, your woods will be at peace once more.” She bows slightly and he returns the gesture, watching her full figure sway slightly as she turns towards the woods. He watches her go, exhaustion finally catching up with him, shutting his door as she disappears over the rise near his watch station.

His mind races with questions yet unanswered, thinking that perhaps he should have accompanied her as he sinks onto his worn mattress. But she has her task, and he has his. He cannot abandon the people of this village, not right now anyway. He lies down, and as his weary eyelids slide shut, he inhales deeply, the scent left behind by Karstyn fresh and soothing like a spring rain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karstyn and Mack each question their next moves, with some added personal distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally spaced on posting the next chapter of this, so I'm fixing that now! Sorry for the delay!

As Karstyn nears the edge of the woods, anxiety grips her heart, her pace faltering and coming to a stop. She peers into the thick underbrush, mind conjuring countless catastrophic scenarios all in the blink of an eye. Her slender fingers twist the hem of her sleeve nervously. She glances back over her shoulder towards where Mack’s home lies beyond the rise of the hill. Perhaps she should have asked for his assistance - he is the druid of this village, after all. 

Karstyn thinks she should have at least allowed herself more time to rest. She looks toward the tree standing tall and solitary over Mack’s campfire pit, its oaken spirit calling to her comfortingly. A tired smile graces her face as she turns towards it, resolved to rest in its boughs for a short time. As she approaches, its branches and leaves seem to sway subtly despite the lack of breeze. She finds a low branch, easily hoisting herself up to the higher branches until she finds a comfortable fork hidden behind a thick bunch of leaves. Drawing her cloak around herself she curls up, sleep quickly finding her. 

Karstyn dreams of a forest, of a path that meanders aimlessly. She follows its twists and turns, nearly losing it amongst the overgrown brush. Finally she comes to a clearing, serene and bright, berry vines rambling and wild around the edges. She steps into the space before the birdsong ceases abruptly, a shadow spreading over the clearing and the entire forest. She turns in fear to see the berry brambles withering away to black, a figure rising from the darkness at its heart to tower over her. Its red eyes seem to pierce her soul, its gnarled hands reaching out to her just before she jolts awake. 

Her pulse is racing as she steadies herself on her perch in the oak. Night has fallen and the area is shrouded in darkness, save for a glow at the base of her hideout. She peeks between branches enough to make out the light of Mack’s campfire, his form silhouetted where he stands watch. Clearly he hasn’t noticed her presence yet, and so she remains silent, merely observing him for the time being. 

The fire casts its light and warmth onto Mack’s hilltop lookout. He feels almost certain that the encounter with the infected dryads last night will keep them at bay for a while yet. But he must keep watch all the same. After standing attentively for most of the night, he allows himself to sit at the base of the tree, resting his back against the sturdy trunk. He places his axe next to him, easily within reach should the need for it arise. The heat from the fire is enough that he need not wrap himself in his great kilt just yet. For now he is content to let his eyes focus on nothing in particular, his mind drifting to Karstyn for the hundredth time today.

He really does wish now that he had gone with her. He shouldn’t have let her return to that accursed place on her own, especially after her first experience there. His only hope is that he will one day soon see her fair face again, watch her eyes glitter as her full lips turn upwards in a smile. Such a simple gesture, but one that moves his heart regardless. Her beauty is so simple, yet so otherworldly to him, that he can’t help but be enraptured by it. 

A stirring in his gut, a feeling he hasn’t felt since his young adulthood, brings his thoughts to the present. The pattern of his tartan is distorted where a bulge forms in his lap, and he chastises himself for having such an immature physical response to his musings. He tries to think of other things for a few moments before he gives up, surrendering to the emotions and urges that he suddenly feels. He lets his fingers ghost over the outline of his member, the wool of his kilt abrasive but not altogether unpleasant on the sensitive skin. He doesn’t have to worry about any of the villagers coming out here at night - they never bother him when he’s on watch.

He relinquishes the last of his control as he hikes up the fabric of his belted plaid around his waist, exposing his hardening length to the mild air. He so rarely indulges himself in things like this, only occasionally dealing with hard-ons lazily and without much emotion. But he wants to enjoy this, wants to let his mind focus on the fantasies for once. He’s only human, after all. 

Mack takes himself gently in his hand, his touch feather light as he traces a lightly pulsing vein along the slender shaft. His cock, generous in length if not girth, bobs with eagerness, encouraging his rough fingers to wrap around it. He gives in, humming low in his throat and biting his lip. How would Karstyn’s hand feel in place of his own? Her skin had seemed so smooth and soft when he’d treated her wounds, and right now he wants nothing more than to be enveloped by her completely. Each stroke of his own lends itself to the fantasy playing out in his mind, and he imagines kissing every inch of her slowly and torturously as her grip on his member tightens. 

His pace becomes more fervent as the fantasy heats up, a building pressure in his abdomen accompanying the motions. His chest heaves and hitches with the exertion, his eyes tightly shut to focus on every sensation shooting through his body. He eases off just a bit, enough to make his hips buck instinctually into his hand before he continues. Just as his arm begins to feel the strain of the repeated motions, his core tightens and a wave of pleasure overtakes him. His cock throbs in his hand and pulses of white paint his fingers, coating his length as he continues stroking. He finally stops when it becomes too much, catching his breath and running his tongue along his now sore lip. He pries open one eye to look at the mess he’s made, reaching for a handkerchief to wipe his hand and softening cock clean. 

By now the sky is beginning to lighten, so he rises to stamp out his dwindling fire and spare one last look at the forest. He tries not to dwell on the thought of Karstyn. For all he knows, she could already have met a cruel fate. He doesn’t allow himself to think on that either, lest guilt overtakes his heart. He simply sighs, his body’s desires sated for the time being, and gathers his few belongings before returning home. 

Karstyn watches him go, having surprised even herself with her ability to stay quiet this entire time. She can’t deny the mixture of embarrassment and arousal she’d felt at watching Mack through the night. She wonders if he’d thought of her, perhaps. The possibility makes her cheeks darken in the growing light, still hidden safely in her treetop hideaway. For a strong, capable druid like Mack to be interested in someone like her - she allows herself to muse over the thought more than she probably should, and soon enough she simply can’t think about anyone or anything else. 

She stretches one leg along the branch, the other dangling comfortably as her cloak falls open. Underneath she wears nothing, although she isn’t fully exposed. Dense and soft Scotch moss covers her chest and lap, the delicate scattering of petite white blossoms almost like a pattern. She leans against the trunk behind her, feeling the energy within it. How fortunate she had been that such a kind man had rescued her, had taken her in and treated her wounds. She can’t help the soft sigh that escapes her, wishing she could have been awake as his gentle but strong hands treated her wounds, had caressed her skin so carefully as he healed her. Already the scratches on her arms were barely visible, thanks to his ministrations. 

Suddenly, the moss on Karstyn’s body begins to thin and disappear, vanishing into her dark skin. Now that her breasts are exposed to the cool morning air, her nipples pebble at the chill as one of her hands comes up to massage her flesh. The other dips between her legs, the dampness there finally becoming too much to ignore. The lobed leaf-like appearance of her entrance spreads open to meet her fingers, trails of slick already tracing down her inner thighs. 

The hand on her chest moves to grip the branch she sits on instead, helping to steady her balance as she begins pumping her fingers slowly in and out of herself. She wonders how deeply Mack’s cock would fit inside her, making her keen quietly. She withdraws her fingers, instead focusing her attention on her sensitive bud, gently but firmly circling it with the pad of one finger. How she wants to feel his sweet tongue on her there, to feel his coarse stubble rubbing her thighs as he brings her to the edge, to feel his lips kiss her folds in adoration. 

Suddenly the pressure inside her builds to a crescendo, but she continues the motions on her swollen clit as she thrusts her fingers into her soaked entrance once more. Her walls clench down on them as she feels her orgasm crash over her, fluids gushing from her as she opens her mouth in a silent cry. Her chest heaving, she only stops once the stimulation becomes painful rather than pleasurable. Her fingers, thighs, and pussy are soaked, as is the branch on which she rests, but she can’t bring herself to care. She simply basks in her afterglow and the warmth of the morning sun, trying to regain her composure enough to figure out what she should do next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a simple woman. I make OC's, I immediately write smut for them. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Mack surveys the interior of his hut. He’s lived alone for many years now, and he’s been used to it. But now that Karstyn has come and gone, he feels like this place is not enough. Like it’s missing something. He glances at his empty bed and drags his palm down the side of his scruffed face. What’s wrong with him? Why has this become such a hassle? He groans and sits on the edge of the bed, flopping onto his side and faceplanting into his pillow. He should be tired after being awake for so long, but he’s not. The thought makes another frustrated groan leave him, muffled by the pillow that still smells like Karstyn. It’s at least midday and he’s not even close to being ready to sleep. He rolls onto his back and stares at the timbers lining his roof. He’s a grown man, why is he behaving this way?

He lies that way for some time before he hears a soft tapping sound. He sits up and listens again. Surely if a villager needed him they would knock with more urgency than that. He waits another moment - perhaps it was a bird. But no, it comes again, so this time he stands, running his fingers through his unruly rust colored hair in an attempt to tame it. He sighs and opens the door, only to be greeted by a familiar otherworldly face.  

Karstyn looks almost as surprised as Mack feels. Her eyes are wide and her mouth opens once, as if she’s going to say something, but she closes it instead. Finally Mack finds his own words as he looks at her. 

“Karstyn? I… are ye okay?” And suddenly he’s ushering her into his home. She finally looks at him as if waking from a daze and smiles sweetly. Oh. That smile. He has to lean on the edge of his table as he looks at her. 

“I-I’m fine, Mack, really.” Kar perches herself on the narrow bench next to his table and he lowers himself onto the edge of his bed across from her. “I simply wanted to thank your properly for rescuing me.” She reaches into a deep pocket of her cloak and withdraws a small object. It appears to be a small glass vial, adorned with pale flowers of Scotch moss around the neck. It contains a small amount of semiclear liquid. She hands it to him reverently. When confusion crosses his face, she explains. “It’s a healing ointment, made from dew drops gathered on the leaves of the Mother Oak in my homeland. She is centuries old, and wise beyond measure. A single drop can bring someone back from the brink of death.”

Mack looks at from her to the vial in wonder. He’s read about such potions, but it was thought their craft had been lost to time. “Karstyn… thes is an incredible gift. I dinnae feel right acceptin’ it from ye.” He tries to pass the small container back to her but she stops him, catching his hands with hers.

“Please,” she insists, using her fingers to close his gently around the delicate glass. “I know you will use it wisely.” She smiles so sweetly at him and he finds himself eternally grateful that he is already seated. But suddenly she stands, and he somehow manages to rise with her. “However now I truly must depart. I have tarried long enough, I fear. Thank you once again for everything.” She bows slightly and turns towards the door, but Mack finds his hand darting forward to gently grip her shoulder. 

“Wait, I…” She faces him, confusion on her face as well as a slight blush. “Karstyn, I… lit me accompany ye. Please.” He can’t believe how desperate he sounds, but he continues. “Thes matter concerns mah folk as much as it does yers. And it would put me mind at ease to know yoo’re safe.” He maintains eye contact through his request, even though his face is now a deep red from how hard he blushes. 

Her full lips are parted slightly as he speaks, and when he finishes her eyes twinkle with mirth and a wide grin graces her features. “Why… that’s a wonderful idea, Mack!” She clasps her hands excitedly in front of her. “You know this woods better than anyone, I’ll wager.”

He nods and rubs the back of his neck shyly. In truth, nobody else in the village would ever dare step foot in the forest willingly. “Ah just need tae pack some supplies, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course! Take your time,” Kar replies cheerfully. 

While Mack pulls a satchel from a peg on the wall and fills it with various items, Kar takes a moment to look around the small shack. The numerous aged tomes on his desk, countless bundles of herbs drying in the rafters - all trademarks of a knowledgeable and accomplished druid. She glances towards Mack as he gathers some food from his modest pantry. She thinks of the village of his that will be without him. 

“Mack? Will your people be okay?” she asks suddenly. 

He puts a waterskin in his pack and gives her his attention. A silent moment passes between them before he finally speaks. “If we succeed, they’ll hae naethin’ left tae fear in thes world.” His boldness empowers her, and she nods in agreement. He places a few herbs in his pouch and closes the flap, slinging it across his body in readiness. “Ready?” he asks finally. 

“Ready.” 

“Bide fer me by mah watch tree. Ah must tell th’ elders of mah absence.” He holds the door open for her and closes it behind them, but not before retrieving his axe from its resting place by the door. “Ah’ll be there soon. Dinnae worry.” He smiles and turns towards the village, leaving Kar to find her way on her own. 

The fluttering of her stomach rises as she watches him stride away. He looks so noble and strong. Why did she agree to this? She’s going to make a fool of herself. She sighs as she makes her way to the lone oak. No going back now. 


	4. UPDATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an update

HELLO, ALL!!!

I know I've been ridiculously MIA for far too long. A  _lot_  has happened in my life lately. I'll try to summarize...

In May, my maternal grandmother who has Alzheimer's had an episode which resulted in my mother having to move in with her and me helping out a lot around both my mom's and grandma's houses. In that same month, I lost my paternal grandfather, whom I have been incredibly close to for my entire 26 years of life. As a result, my paternal grandmother and my entire family have had to adjust to not only losing him, but have gone from basically full-time care of him to suddenly refocusing our lives. It is a process for us all.

On top of this, I have also had a slight career change. For the last 3 years, I have been a substitute teacher at the high school level. As of 4 days before the start of this school year (talk about the 11th hour!), I am now in an 80% position teaching 4 periods of general science at the same high school where I graduated from and where my stepmom and dad work. I am concurrently working on my teaching credential and taking online classes, so I have to balance my own homework with creating my own lesson plans and grading and all that comes with being a full-time teacher. It's fun, but extremely challenging. 

And to make things more chaotic, there is wildfire blazing in Northern California barely more than an hour from my home, the Camp Fire (a bad name for it, thanks, CalFire). It is thus far the most destructive fire in California history and only partially contained. Dear friends of mine have lost everything, smoke has filled the northstate area, and my heart breaks for the entire town of Paradise which was essentially razed in less than 24 hours. It's hard to wrap my head around, and I have a feeling many changes will be coming to the state to facilitate the thousands and thousands of individuals who have been displaced during this tragedy. 

I tell you all this simply to give you a glimpse into my chaotic life as of late, and a possible explanation for my absence. I still love writing, I still have plans to finish this as well as my other fics. The fact is that I have no idea when I will have time for that, apart from possibly holiday breaks like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter (and summer, of course). Some of you have eagerly asked about when I will update again, and unfortunately this is the best answer I have for you. I ask for your patience while I navigate this tricky but exciting chapter in my life. If you're eager for updates, I advise that you subscribe to my fic, and you'll get email notifications when updates are available.

Thank you for your understanding and continued patience! 

~Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for more adventures of druid and dryad! Thanks for reading!


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